Dear Husband, I'm Done With Penetrative Sex

Dear husband: I love you. We have great sex. You’ve helped me live out my exhibitionist kink amid a global pandemic and I’ve helped you by investing in an inflatable pool (to everyone reading this, IYKYK).

But there’s one, tiny thing I need to talk to you about: I’m officially-officially done with penetrative sex. Let me explain before you start with the “Ugh, is this for a Cosmo article?” (Because the answer is yes, but also no).

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For as long as I can remember, sex has been alllll about the P in the V. Penetration. In and out. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Even when I lost my virginity at 16, my then-boyfriend unwrapped the condom, kissed me a few times, and then proceeded to thrust, thrust, thrust.

At the time, it was a BFD. (I mean, hello? That’s what I thought losing your virginity was all about.) It didn’t matter that I didn’t come remotely close to orgasming that time (or the next time, or the time after that, orrrrrr the time after that). It only mattered that I had the thrust, thrust, thrust. You know, the penetration that I thought would turn me into a woman. A glowing sexual goddess.

What it actually turned me into: Someone who missed actually orgasming. That’s because before having intercourse, I actually had a chance to experience a leg-shaking O (see: dry humping, fingering, oral sex, a nice lil below the pants rub-down). Sure, that stuff still happens now for a few minutes before the thrusting, but never for long enough to actually get me there. Need I remind you that with strictly penetrative sex, my chances of an O go down significantly?

For some damn reason, after heterosexual women have officially had our thrust, thrust, thrust that is called intercourse, it’s like kissing and foreplay for hours is replaced with hasty sex that ends as soon as semen makes its arrival. So much ugh.

Now, I’m not blaming you or the other men I’ve slept with for making me this way. I blame societal standards. I was having “sex” to have sex. To have something to talk about over brunch and not necessarily to feel good. I was more than fine with the thrust, thrust, thrust because honestly? That’s what I thought sex was—and unfortunately, that’s what plenty of other heterosexual couples think as well.

Because think about it: WTF else have we been taught? Movies, shows, books, and porn. Every sex scene, even every romance scene, leads to the Big Moment. The Big Sex. The thrust, thrust, thrust.

Which is why I’m officially done. I’m turning in my resignation. I’m over the notion that “it’s not sex unless there’s intercourse.” As anyone in a non-hetero relationship knows, there are tons of ways to get off, and a lot of them don’t involve lazy thrusting. A lot of them don’t even involve putting things in holes. So, this is my two weeks’ notice. My declaration that I’m no longer accepting the thrust, thrust, thrust as sex.

It doesn’t matter how many circles you do or how frequent the thrusting is — I’m just not a fan. And after some reflection, I realize I never have been. So, instead of lying there, seeking out tiny morsels of pleasure like I have my entire sex life, hoping there’d be a few moments of foreplay, I’m finally going to become the glowing sex goddess I thought I was years ago. I’m finally going to say what I want and get it. I’m officially calling it quits on the thrust, thrust, thrust.

Moving forward, sex is going to look less like that and more like what it should be. If penetration happens, fine. But it’s no longer going to be the main event. The big deal. The end-all-be-all. Penetration will be the side dish, and from here on out, sex is going to be the way you undress me with your eyes. It will be us role-playing our favorite TV shows. It’ll involve lots of fingers, our tongues, maybe some toys, and if you’re lucky, whipped cream too.

Doesn’t that sound better than a thrust, thrust, thrust that leaves you with sore arms anyway? I think yes.

Sincerely,

Your horny wife who needs attention on the couch RTFN.

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Sex & Relationships – Cosmopolitan
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